


Compassion

by CommanderBayban



Series: Autistic Sixth Doctor [5]
Category: Doctor Who (1963)
Genre: Autism, Autistic Doctor (Doctor Who), Comfort, Cuddling & Snuggling, Gen, Meltdown, Neurodivergent Doctor (Doctor Who), Sensory Overload, Support Systems, shutdown
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-15 20:41:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28944594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CommanderBayban/pseuds/CommanderBayban
Summary: During a swanky party somewhere far away, the Doctor has a meltdown. Luckily, he knows of a girl who can help alleviate his troubles.(Prompt 12—sensory overload)
Relationships: Peri Brown & Sixth Doctor
Series: Autistic Sixth Doctor [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2003323
Kudos: 4





	Compassion

_Up and down..._

_Up and down..._

_Concentrate..._

_Concentrate...!_

_Focus on the time rotor…_

The Doctor fell hands-first onto the console with a _slam_. His chin dropped into his chest and his eyes bolted themselves shut. His breathing was no longer its usual smooth, methodical self, but laboured and shallow as though he'd just completed a 400 metre sprint. And, in a sense, he had.

Despite the air inside the TARDIS being set to the perfect room temperature, his body trembled making his hearts fire like two pistons. There was a nagging voice in the back of his head commanding him to run. Run out of his skin. Run far, far away from here and never return.

And yet all he really wanted to do was collapse into a ball of nothingness.

_Steady!_

“Doctor?” Peri said, as she traipsed into the blue box. Her voice was soft, but had an underlying hint of concern, “Are you alright?”

_Steady, I say!!_

Instantly, the Doctor’s ears were jabbed with aural ice picks. His teeth clenched and grinded against one another like a wild animal ready to spar over a territorial dispute. What was once a face beaming with vast prepossession had now become the outward manifestation of the troubling forces that were overtaking his mind and body.

“S—stop…!” he shouted, slamming his hands against his ears, “Please!”

It was too far gone now.

Everything was too much.

Too much.

Too…

The sterile, fluorescent lights of the console room burned through his eyelids; the even lull of the rotor’s inner machinery sounded like nails on a chalkboard; and his _clothes_ —the endless layers of fabric laced up tight with buttons and zippers and ties were constricting him better than any Boa could. His own personal straitjacket bursting with colour and prickling at his skin with tiny, invisible needles. The Doctor's fingers moved in a frenzy as he desperately tried to remove the blue and white speckled tie that was so inclined to suffocate him dry. What was once an act that took less than a second was now taking what felt like hours.

_Come on, COME ON!_

But the more he screamed inside, the more his mind fogged and his dexterity lessened. Why’d he have to wear all these ridiculous clothes!? He should’ve listened to Peri and chose something more conventionally casual. No ties choking; no waistcoats binding; no braces pushing down on every fibre of his being; no boots that felt like he was slogging through quicksand with each step taken. For once he should've listened!

The Doctor slammed the ribbon to the ground, but he still couldn't breathe easy. The upper buttons of his shirt were the next target that needed to be eliminated. The unmerciful force with which they pressed upon his trachea...it was a marvel that he managed to make it this far in life without turning plum purple.

“Oh, G-ds!” he cried, “Please make it all stop!”

After the buttons were successfully obliterated, it was now up to his other senses to play a nefarious game of tug of war with his sanity. Without thinking, he flung himself against the TARDIS wall in an attempt to put an end to it all. A strong—almost desperate—compulsion to repeatedly slam his head upon the roundel-spotted barriers started to dominate his thoughts...but no. He couldn’t go as far as potentially damage his precious encephalon—the intellect stored there was one of the universes’ modern marvels. Instead, he opted for the less destructive—but equally violent—method: taking a fistful of curls and tugging on them as hard as he could until he was nearly doubled over.

Peri, watching him with a look of sheer terror, finally decided to run over to him, “Doctor?! Why are you acting like this?!”

It wasn’t unusual to see the Time Lord in a state of unwavering anger, but his attacks were usually in the form of shouting diatribes over the dinner table or pacing around the TARDIS while ranting and raving to himself. On rare occasions would his hands take it upon themselves to destroy objects, but never before had she seen him attack himself to such a degree. In her mind, she was glad it was him being pummeled and tossed about this time instead of her, but in her heart she knew watching him in this state was worse than the rogue incident from the dawn of his current regeneration.

With all her strength, Peri attempted to pry his claws out from the entanglement of blond curls. “Stop it!” she entreated, "You're hurting yourself!"

To her surprise, her friend quickly capitulated. With his heart beating in his ears and his throat tightened, the Doctor slid down the wall and fell to the ground like a neglected rag doll.

Peri rested a gentle hand upon his shoulder; a compassionate act that none would consider to be done in malice. But the Doctor’s synapses were instantly set ablaze again. His body began to shiver and twitch and, unconsciously, he dashed his hand against hers as though it were vermin.

“Will you stop touching me!!” he spat.

“W—what…?” Peri pulled back her hand and held it close to her chest, “I just want—”

Her relatively high-pitched voice continued to send his cortisol levels skyrocketing. That was how this all began in the first place: voices. Too many voices and not enough silence.

“For goodness sakes, Peri, can’t you and everyone else just _SHUT UP for once!?_ ” he bellowed, “Is it _THAT_ difficult for you all to understand!?”

And with a metaphorical snap of the finger, his wish was granted. The time rotor halted its habitual bobbing; the background hum of the TARDIS silenced; and any other technological or mechanical feature ceased to produce any additional noise by way of dampeners or forced shutdowns.

Peri minced a step backwards. Now it was _her_ heart that pounded in her head, clouding what little sense she could make of the situation. Here was her boisterous, valiant friend cowering in the corner with tears welling in the corners of his eyes and his body shaking with pent-up adrenaline. Actually, it didn’t make any sense at all. The Doctor seemed fine that morning and, in fact, he was in rather high spirits. They shared hearty laughs and jovial conversation over breakfast as they reminisced about their previous adventure and, when it was time to land on a new planet, he had no issue exercising his chivalry to escort her to the gala.

Over the centuries, the Doctor had amassed a large collection of letters from people and creatures all over the universe inviting him to be a part of their grand jubilee, guest of honour at their autumn festival, position of chief justice at their inauguration, or just another boot scootin’ body at their hoedown throwdown. After what seemed like weeks of playing cops and robbers without even a single day off, Peri whinged that they should do something objectively _fun_ for once. No speeches about morals, ethics, and justice; no jumping, ducking, and scrambling to keep her head attached to her shoulders, but just a pure, unadulterated holiday. In agreement, the Doctor brought out a shoebox full of invitations and gave Peri the privilege to choose the next leisurely destination.

After combing through a vast array of political-oriented solicitations and ones that sounded like set-ups for another wild escapade, she handed him a glossy letter written in beautiful Spencerian script. “This one seems fun,” she said. It was written complements of a Mr Zechariah Ross, who invited the Doctor to a evening of bliss as they celebrated the holy matrimony of his daughter, Olivia Ross, to Barnabas II—Emperor of Knightmeadow, King of Midfrost, and Grand Duke of Dawnvale. This was, of course, on a planet a million miles away from what is known as _Earth._

The gala was just like many others the pair had been to, with toffee-nosed men dressed up to the neck in their black tie affairs, attempting to impress their colleagues with knowledge about the ins and outs of the political sphere; and toffee-nosed women who promenaded around mentally competing with each other over whose gown was the most extravagant. In the ballroom were scores of people dancing the quadrille as a quintet orchestra played an assortment of music from their planet and beyond. Stiff-lipped footmen holding platters of canapés, crudités, and aperitifs travelled between the palace and the lush grounds to temporarily sate the hunger of the revellers before the grand feast. Regardless of where one stood, there were glasses clinking, random bouts of forced laughter, and conversation volumes that ranged from sharp whispers to enthusiastic cheers.

It was all standard fare. The two offworlders made themselves welcome by first chatting with Zechariah and his newly-minted daughter and son-in-law before strolling about to find other sources of interesting discussion. All the while they gorged on snacks (well, as much as one _can_ gorge themselves on stray pieces of caviar-topped crackers and julienned cucumbers) and took advantage of the complementary flutes of champagne...and cups of sparkling water.

But an hour or so into the festivities, the Doctor disappeared. Peri—who was busy playing the part of an established queen from a planet no one's ever heard of—didn’t notice her companion's absconding until a stranger approached and asked where her ‘scientific consort’ had departed to. With her curiosity now piqued, she made a few whips of the head and conducted a search through the crowds that made her look like a lost child searching for their guardian in a bustling superstore. Travelling with the Doctor was like playing Russian roulette with the one exception being the rules were switched. Here, every chamber had the potential to end in sudden death or mutilation except for one. The days that ended _without_ the two engaging in another session of swashbuckling were far outnumbered by those that did. In Peri's mind, he must've been investigating an alien device tucked away in a closet or a dead body on the steps.

But after approaching every 'distinguished' guest, poking around every corner, and checking virtually every door in the palace, she discovered that the Doctor had made a dash back into the TARDIS. But she still didn’t understand why.

Peri took another step backwards. Through the hands that shrouded his face, she could faintly hear the quivering breath of her friend. What was she supposed to do? The obvious thing would be to _ask_ , but being yelled at for seemingly no reason wasn’t her idea of a good time. She could always go to her bedroom and leave him alone to wallow for some indeterminate amount of time...but that felt heartless. This was her friend she was attempting to console, not the Master! And anyway, what if the Doctor managed to hurt himself while she was away?

Peri's memories replayed footage of her days back in Baltimore. When she was ‘in a mood’ as her parents would say, they wouldn’t give up on bothering her until they received a proper answer as to what was wrong (or until she made it unequivocally clear that she didn’t want to talk). The Doctor did tell her to shut up, but...maybe he didn’t mean it?

She wrung her clammy hands in front of her. “Um, I’m sorry, Doctor…,” she mumbled, “I just wanted to help...”

“Will you _LEAVE ME ALONE_ , Peri!?” he shouted. But before his command had time to sink in, the Time Lord had already taken to his feet and was stomping his way into the depths of the TARDIS.

The zero room.

If this wouldn’t help ease his weary mind...then nothing would.

The Doctor’s fingers fumbled with the lock activation and, once the doors slid open, he collapsed into a colourful, dishevelled heap on the floor. The typical fragrance of fresh roses that pumped through the room had been flushed and replaced with a gentle, silent stream of cool air. The laboratory lights dimmed, blanketing him in a veil of complete darkness. In essence, the room had become exactly as it was named—an asylum of zero sensory input. The TARDIS womb.

Some hours later, the Time Lord reemerged from his cave like a bear after hibernation. Not only had he shed his coat and let his braces hang limp by his sides, but he could see the sun attempting to peek out from the mess of nimbus clouds that dared to darken the door of his mind. When he looked down the stark white hallways, everything seemed…new. Of course, nothing had changed or rearranged in his home since he shut his eyes, but still the world appeared to be in a balmy haze. Was time a figment of his imagination? How was it that anything from a supercluster turbo booster to a mote of dust could exist in the universe? What came first: the chicken or the egg? And the most important question of all: did _he_ exist? The Doctor rubbed his eyes. The last thing he needed was to fall into another existential crisis; he needed a way to occupy his mind for the time being. A list of potential hobbies flashed through his mind. Reading? Too much focus required. Writing? Too intense. Coding another script into the TARDIS' memory banks?

With a hand gripping his forehead, he plodded back into the console room and began to fiddle with the buttons and knobs with expert precision. The TARDIS shimmered and warbled as it dematerialised, which made the time rotor bob with its signature _vvorp-vvorp._ This time, the shrill, discordant noise didn’t cause any alarm in his head. Instead, it passed through him without even saying ‘hello’.

Peri entered the room not a moment later. Her arms were crossed by way of a thick blanket that was wrapped around her body and dragging on the floor behind her. Though she said nothing verbally, her downturned lips and knitted brows relayed everything she was thinking.

The Doctor continued his barrage of switch-flipping and programming, but nary spoke a word either. Peri, again, debated on whether she should open her mouth or, at the very least, clear her throat to get his attention, but instead she opted to stand on the opposite side of the instrument panel. And wait...

Finally, the Doctor released an exasperated sigh, “What do you want, Peri?”

“Um…,” she brought her shoulders up to her face like a frightened child after a nightmare, “Is this the all-clear signal that I can talk?”

“Well I _am_ speaking to you, aren’t I?”

Peri stayed frozen in place, watching the Doctor input a series of letters and numbers into the computer banks like nothing odd had happened just a few hours before, “...I just wanted to know if you were okay now? I’m—I’m worried about you... _Doctor?_ Doctor, look at me.”

He kept one hand on the console, rested the other on his hip, and did as asked. His companion’s eyes were passionate in more ways than one. Not only did they gaze with incredible power, but they were also tinged with red. Similarly, her cheeks were pale yet dappled with colour.

“Am I _okay_? I’m always _oh-kay_."

“No you’re not,” Peri asserted calmly, “I can tell.”

The Doctor’s eyes lowered to the cockpit. Oh, how he wished she never witnessed the tribulation that had afflicted him earlier. Not only because it was damaging to his ego (thank goodness he got to the TARDIS before making a scene in front of the upper crust), but because she shouldn’t have to stay up at all hours of the night worrying about his mental state. It was _he_ who was meant to be the protector of the bunch; her only responsibility was to sit back and enjoy the ride.

But there was no escaping the fact of the matter. No point in hiding the obvious truth. He stuffed his hands into his pockets and twisted his mouth into a small frown, “You’re right...I feel like an absolute wreck.”

Peri walked over and wrapped her arms around him from behind. Her eyes fluttered shut as she nestled into the crease of his back, snuggling in as best she could. There was no possible way the Doctor could decline a good hug. Contrary to his previous incarnation, his present form was usually more than willing to indulge in the more tactile aspects of a relationship.

But today was the exception to the rule. Despite being in sensory deprivation for hours, the mere presence of his friend was enough to bring feelings of disquietude and now, with her body compressed against his, he felt on the verge of regressing. The Doctor's hair stood to attention and his muscles began to tense just as they had before. It’s said that acupuncture doesn’t incite much pain upon its clients, but, gosh, were the receptors from his head to his feet flaring. He wanted to scream and push her away as he’d done previously, but he couldn’t muster up the right tone of voice. He couldn’t yell at her again. Not when she was only trying to help.

So he bit his tongue. And then his lower lip. Unconsciously, a small whimper slipped through the crack.

_Contain yourself..._

_She means no harm…_

He gently unclasped Peri’s hands from his chest and stepped aside. With his head hanging in shame, he attempted to speak but the words wouldn’t form.

Only a few feet apart, they stood there in silence.

“Can you...at least come to my room?” Peri mumbled, “I don’t want to leave you.”

He turned back around. There was a tender, benevolent glint in her eye urging for him to say 'yes'. And he knew he couldn't resist. The Doctor gave an affirmative mew and, without making physical contact, she ushered him into her own personal solace.

They decided to sit on the plush carpet with their backs to the wall instead of atop Peri's blue quilted comforter. Not only did it feel more appropriate, but it was an easy way to help with the Doctor's grounding. A technique that apparently worked well enough that, in addition to quenching his thirst on warm, sweetened tea, he soon made a subtle request to be held. It wasn’t said outright, but Peri understood the language of her friend. There was always a reason behind his nuzzles. So she snuggled in tight and swaddled them both in her tasseled blanket.

The safety of their warm, fuzzy cocoon and the amount of fascinating visual stimuli adorning the walls and dressers gave the Doctor the fortitude to finally tell Peri what he had experienced both mentally and emotionally for the past few hours.

“But what caused it?” she frowned, “Was it the planet’s atmosphere?”

“The readings were perfectly normal as evidenced by your lack of distress,” he replied, “No, I’m afraid it was purely psychosomatic.”

“I don’t understand?”

The Doctor sighed, “I’ve been rather stressed the past few days, Peri.”

“Stressed?” She chuckled breathily through her nose, “I thought you’d be the last person to wind up _stressed_ like the rest of us plebes.”

The Doctor did not share in her amusement, “Any other time I’d agree with you but, although having a nightly sleep routine isn’t necessary for Time Lords, I’ve managed to work myself into a state of exhaustion.”

“What happened to ‘discretion is the better part of valour?’”

He shot her a glare.

“...Sorry. But I still don’t understand; you seemed fine this week. Even this morning you were laughing and joking around like everything was normal.”

“I’d love to claim that there was a method to my madness—that being a heroic, pertinacious figure despite the turmoil in my head would inspire people for generations...but even _I_ wasn’t privy to my own agitation.” The Doctor tugged at the colourful threads of the blanket, “Foolishly, I thought I could sustain my energy by engaging in constant gallivants like Edmond Dantès—parading around the universe for days on end with only an hour’s sleep. But it obviously caught up with me.”

Peri pursed her lips in confusion, “But when you ran back into the TARDIS...you didn’t jump into bed. You were having some kind of fit?”

“A consequence of my agitated state.”

Peri parted her lips, but before she could speak the Doctor continued, “My heightened sensitivity to external stimuli made me unable to stay at the gala any longer. Everything from a clanging fork to a quiet whisper felt like the worst noise imaginable. I came to the TARDIS to calm myself down, but, as you unfortunately witnessed…”

A pang of guilt hit Peri's heart. No, it wasn't guilt...it was more like sadness. On top of the millions of things the Doctor had to worry about on a regular day, he also had to be aware of sensations that most people never had to stop and think about. Her head hung in pity, “Geez...I’m sorry Doctor...” she said, “I just wish I could’ve helped you.”

“You did all you could,” he smiled, “And, for that, I’m thankful.”

She looked at him with a cocked head and narrowed eyes, "But I didn't do anything. Every time I tried you pushed me away."

"Exactly. The best thing you could've done was leave me be. While you did make a few mistakes...I shudder to think how Iris would've handled it..."

"Iris?"

The Doctor waved away the thought, "Nevermind that. _Thank you._ "

Peri gave him a tight squeeze and removed herself from the cocoon to take away his empty cup of tea.

The Doctor's eyes followed her up and across the room. “You...don’t have to do that _now_ , do you?” he asked.

Peri, who was already near the door, stopped and spun herself around. Taking one look at him from her wide-view lens was like looking at a different person, a person who was in much better spirits than they were a short time ago. Just seeing at his face now restored to its passionate self and his physique no longer in a state of unrest made her feel at ease. She hoped in her heart of hearts that his mind was revitalised and no longer in a state of panic.

Peri sat the cup and saucer onto her dresser, “I guess I don’t. Why? Is there anything you need?”

With a cheeky closed-mouth grin, the Doctor patted the empty spot that she once occupied. Having been in this situation before with an old boyfriend, Peri stepped over his legs and returned back to her designated seat.

“Yes?” Peri knew full well that he didn’t possess the same carnal desires as George or Davey, but what was so important that she couldn't take five seconds to put away the dishes?

“There _is_ one thing I request…” He scooted away from her and stretched himself out like a plank before resting his head upon her lap, “A good night’s sleep. Glorious, glorious…(he yawned widely) sleep…”

Peri’s face turned stoic upon realising that she was now trapped under the Doctor’s massive intellect until he either woke up or rolled off. She tenderly ran a hand through his scalp; her fingers dancing within his blond coils. But...in a way it was the good kind of trapped, not unlike the time they were stuck on the Space Invaders coaster at Blackpool Pleasure Beach for two long, dark hours. It only took the kids twenty minutes to finally stop screaming and making obnoxious ghost noises. The fact that there was an echo in the building made it even worse.

The Doctor shivered and curled himself into a ball beneath the blanket.

“Do you want me to stop, Doctor?” she whispered, just to double-check.

“What a preposterous question,” he turned himself back around to look at her head on. The corners of his lips upturned into a coy little smile, “Please continue.”

Yes, _this_ was the kind of sensory input he desired. The kind he craved. And she was the only one who could properly provide it.

And as he lied there in follicle euphoria, he wondered why Peri stuck around even on his worst of days. There was no reason why she couldn’t leave—goodness knows she could choose from a variety of reasons—and yet she never did. Despite all of the arguments, the near-death encounters, and the seemingly unexplainable changes in behaviour, she insisted on staying with him. It didn’t make sense. In fact, this was the sort of question that he ruminated over at one in the morning. And then he remembered the three simple words she told him the very day he took on his new, debonair persona: _‘it’s called compassion’._

Compassion.

 _Perhaps I ought to store those words away in a locket,_ he thought.

It’s called compassion.

The Doctor’s breathing was steady. His hearts were beating at a methodical pace. And his muscles were light and relaxed.

What would he do without her?

Without his dear Perpugilliam Brown?

Out of the trillions of mysteries of the universe, that was one he didn’t wish to solve.


End file.
